Chapter 128: End Of The Old Generation.

Ka’z stared at the corpse and a heavy frown weighing down his face. The old goblin lay strangely peacefully now, his red cloak stained with blood and his staff resting a short distance from his limp fingers.

Only minutes ago, Varg had been standing before him, determined to protect his village despite his frail body and fading core. Ka’z had expected to feel satisfaction after killing him. He had come here believing that destroying everything the Ashmork Clan depended on would finally ease the anger that had been eating at him since the war began. Yet standing over the old goblin’s body, all he felt was an uncomfortable heaviness in his chest.

"God... Why the fuck do I still have a conscience?" he muttered under his breath.

He looked down at Varg for another few seconds before stepping away. Despite everything, Ka’z could not bring himself to leave the old goblin lying in the middle of the road where the livestock could trample over his body. He crouched briefly and moved him toward the edge of the road, placing him beneath the shadow of a nearby structure. Then he stood and bowed his head lightly toward the corpse, a small gesture of respect that he could not explain even to himself.

"I’m sorry, old man."

Ka’z straightened and immediately turned away. He had already wasted enough time. The mission was still active, and every second mattered. He quickly turned toward the ranch and crouched slightly as he prepared to move.

"Vael Ryn."

Wind Magic: Wind Rush!

Swoosh!

A powerful gust erupted beneath his feet and Ka’z shot through the empty streets like an arrow. The buildings blurred around him as he raced toward the northern western section of the village, his body carried forward by the wind while his eyes remained fixed on the path ahead. The distance that would have taken him several minutes to cover on foot disappeared within seconds, and before long the ranch came into view.

It was a wide open stretch of land surrounded by a wooden fence, with more than a hundred cows packed inside. Even from a distance, Ka’z could hear their confused lowing as they shifted restlessly against one another. He slowed down as he approached and immediately covered his nose with one palm.

The smell hit him like a physical attack.

A large pile of cow dung had accumulated near one corner of the ranch, and the warm night air carried the stench directly toward him.

"God damn, clean this place up, you motherfuckers," he hissed, wrinkling his nose.

There was no time to complain, however. Ka’z walked straight toward the wooden fence and grabbed the top rail with one hand. With a single pull, he tore several sections loose from their supports, sending broken pieces of wood crashing into the dirt.

Bam!

The cows immediately panicked.

Several animals jumped away from the sudden opening while others began kicking and pushing against one another. Their lowing quickly grew louder as they realized the barrier that had kept them inside was gone.

"Come on, move!"

Ka’z raised his hand and flames suddenly erupted from his palm.

Bam!

He launched himself into the air and unleashed a violent torrent of fire behind the herd. The flames did not touch the animals, but the sudden burst of heat and light was more than enough to terrify them. The cows bolted forward, trampling over the loose dirt as they desperately searched for somewhere to escape.

Ka’z landed on the back of one of the fleeing animals and immediately balanced himself, using his flames to discourage any cow that attempted to veer away from the herd. Whenever one tried to turn toward another section of the village, a burst of fire struck the ground in front of it, forcing it to change direction. Ka’z repeated the process again and again, gradually guiding the entire herd toward the long stretch of road leading to the southern gate.

The confused animals thundered through the streets, their hooves striking the earth as they pushed toward freedom. Doors opened along the route as startled goblins peered outside, but by the time anyone could understand what was happening, the herd was already moving too quickly to stop.

Ka’z glanced back once. His eyes landed on the body lying peacefully beside the road.

Varg’s face was still turned slightly toward the sky, and despite the wound across his chest, there was a faint sense of peace remaining on his old features. Something tightened inside Ka’z’s chest. He immediately looked away, but his gaze fell upon his empty palm.

"I will never do something like this again..." he mumbled, his voice quieter than before.

Ding!

[New Quest: Destroy the Ashmork Clan]

[Sub Mission Completed: Compromise their food source]

[Reward: 100sp]

[Sub Mission Completed: Destroy the Ashmork Clan Livestock and Grain Storage within the Village]

[Reward: Greater Cultivation Method]

[Description: Grants the ability to filter and absorb aether three times more efficiently than others, improving your cultivation speed.]

[New Sub Mission Acquired: Pick Off The Ashmork Hunting Parties]

[Description: With nothing to eat, the Ashmork Clan will be forced to send out multiple hunting parties to catch some of the released livestock. Pick them off and cut down their fighting force greatly before the final confrontation.]

[Hunting Squad: 0/10]

[Reward: Unknown]

Ka’z stared at the notifications for several seconds, his previous guilt momentarily pushed aside by surprise. The reward for the completed mission immediately caught his attention. A cultivation method that could allow him to filter and absorb aether three times more efficiently than an ordinary magus was exactly what he needed.

He had spent nearly a year stuck at the Low Iron Core stage, and if the description was accurate, this method could dramatically accelerate his progress.

Then his eyes moved to the new mission.

Ka’z slowly looked toward the southern gate through which the cattle had just disappeared.

From the description alone, it was obvious that the war with the Ashmork village was approaching its final stage. They had already lost their farms. Now their stored grain was gone and their livestock had been released. The only reliable source of food remaining to them was the surrounding wilderness, which meant they would eventually have no choice but to send warriors outside their walls.

And that was exactly what Ka’z wanted.

He glanced back toward the gate and a proud smile slowly spread across his face.

Honestly, he had not believed completing the mission was possible when he first saw the five hour time limit. The thought of infiltrating a village filled with hundreds of goblins had seemed insane. Yet somehow he had crossed the walls, burned their storage, released their livestock and escaped without being discovered until it was already too late.

"I need to regroup with the others before dawn," Ka’z muttered thoughtfully. "Then we’ll move around the village. If they’re going hunting, this is the path they’ll have to use. This is where we want to be."

He looked toward the darkness beyond the southern gate and his smile widened slightly.

The Ashmork Clan had just lost its food. Now he intended to make sure they paid for every meal they tried to find.

Meanwhile, Molu was the first to reach the southern gates.

The obese goblin came rushing down the street with sweat covering his face, his breathing labored from the effort. He had never been built for running, and the distance between the council house and the southern entrance had left his chest heaving violently. Yet the moment he reached the gate, his discomfort disappeared.

His eyes immediately fell upon the hoof marks covering the dirt.

Hundreds of them.

They stretched through the streets and continued directly toward the open gate.

Molu slowly followed the trail with his eyes, confusion quickly turning into dread. The southern gates stood wide open, and beyond them the road disappeared into the darkness of the forest.

Then something caught his attention from the corner of his eye. It was a familiar red cloak.

Molu froze.

The body of an old goblin lay beside the road in a pool of hardened blood.

"No..." he gasped.

His eyes widened in disbelief as his heart seemed to stop.

"Elder Varg..."

Molu immediately charged toward the body.

He stumbled halfway there, regained his balance and continued running until his foot caught against an uneven patch of ground.

Thud!

He crashed onto his hands and knees, but he barely noticed the pain. Tears were already forming in his eyes as he pushed himself upright.

"Not now..." he whispered. "You can’t die now. Not like this."

His voice cracked.

Molu crawled forward on his palms and knees, ignoring the dirt covering his hands and clothes. When he finally reached Varg, he grabbed the old goblin’s body and pulled him against his chest.

The elder was cold.

Molu’s trembling hands moved toward the deep wound across Varg’s chest, but there was nothing he could do. The blood had already hardened around the injury, and the old goblin’s body had lost the warmth of life several minutes ago.

Molu stared at him helplessly and his tears began falling freely. He had completely forgotten about the livestock and the burning barn.

All he could see was Varg.

Even if they lost their food, even if they were forced to endure hunger, as long as Elder Varg remained among them, the people would still have hope. Grash had been the champion everyone admired, the warrior everyone wanted to become, but Varg had been something different.

To many of them, he had been the father of the entire clan.

He had been there before the Ashmork Clan became what it was. He had accompanied Goresh and Grash through countless expeditions and helped establish the village during its earliest and most dangerous years. He taught the young goblins games, stories and traditions, and despite holding the position of Chief Shaman, he never carried himself like someone above ordinary people.

Even Molu had spent several nights sleeping inside Varg’s shrine simply because he enjoyed listening to the old goblin tell stories about the past.

Now that familiar voice was gone.

Molu pressed his face against Varg’s chest and broke down.

"Why did you have to be here..."

It took nearly twenty minutes before the rest of the village arrived.

Loki, Crow and Kia led the group, followed closely by several warriors and frightened civilians. Their hurried footsteps slowed the moment they reached the southern gate and saw Molu kneeling beside Varg.

Nobody spoke.

The sight was enough.

Kia stopped several steps away, her face becoming pale beneath her hood. Crow’s expression hardened as he stared at the body, while Loki remained completely still, his eyes fixed on the old goblin who had spent his entire life serving their clan.

Molu finally looked up at them.

His face was soaked with tears.

"He tried to stop them..." he cried, clutching Varg tighter against his chest. "He tried to stop them and they killed him!"

His voice echoed through the silent street.

"Those monsters killed an old defenseless man!"

The villagers gathered around the body one after another, and the silence that followed was heavier than any battle cry. Some bowed their heads. Others cried openly. A few older goblins simply stood there staring at Varg as if refusing to accept that the old goblin who had always been there for them was truly gone.

That night, the cries of the Ashmork Clan could be heard from behind their walls.

The Village had lost someone extremely important that night. Perhaps someone even more important than Grash.